the pain to protect her sleeping Companion.
Understanding filled his face. “Oh, my love, what brought this on?”
“I don’t know,” Elspeth closed her eyes, letting the tears fall. “I woke this morning, and I felt so tired. So very tired. I do not think I can bear the spring, Kyran. I just wanted to lie there, in my warm bed, with my soft pillows, and sleep forever.”
“Elspeth,” Kyran whispered.
“No,” Elspeth blinked her eyes, not daring to lift a hand to wipe the tears away. “Since the day I took the throne, I’ve fought, argued, beguiled, and struggled to keep the peace.” She looked away from him, up to the snow-covered trees. “I turned from you, my love, to marry a man I didn’t love, for the sake of an alliance.”
“Elspeth,” Kyran grew somber. “So long ago . . .”
“Even after his death, I used my mourning as a political tool, fending off other offers of marriage, playing them off against each other.” Elspeth held herself still on the bench, not moving a hand or making a gesture that would give the watchers any information. “And then Darvi . . . my son. My beautiful boy. Dead.” Her voice caught in her throat, and for a moment, they sat in silence and shared pain. She looked down at her muff, where a few tears were clinging to the hairs of the fur, small diamonds against the white.
“Which brings to mind a bit of gossip from the city.” Kyran’s voice was rough. “Seems that one of the crafts-men of the city recently died. In his will, he took advantage of that new law of yours.”
“The one about the statuary?” Elspeth choked out, all too willing to change the subject.
“That’s the one. Seems he was fair well off, being of a thrifty bent. He’s endowed a statue of himself, to be built in the city, and provided for its upkeep.” Kyran cleared his throat. “Has the nobility in a bit of a snit.”
“How so?” Elspeth asked. “I placed no limits on—”
“Well, the dead gentleman has apparently snagged one of the busiest crossroads in the city. So very soon, there’s to be erected a statue with a water fountain, for any and all to drink from. And not just humans—there’s a lower font for animals.”
Elspeth knew Kyran well. She titled her head and waited for it.
“Well, it seems our craftsman is fairly short of frame and rather round. And bald. I understand he was well known for his cheerful countenance. So in among the heros of the realm and the proud members of the noble bloodlines, he will stand, smiling happily, holding the tools of his trade. Much to the horror of the noble lords and ladies.” He laughed, that easy laugh she loved so well.
“I should have named you Laureate,” she watched as a few flakes settled in his thinning hair.
“Me?” He widened his eyes in mock horror. “Wear a coronet, and attend all those interminable council meetings?” He shook his head. “And have the entire court and kingdom speculate on our relationship? Elspeth, it would not have worked. Besides, I have had all that I wanted,” He drew a deep breath. “Do you remember?” His voice was low, a gentle caress. “Your first formal court dance?”
Elspeth nodded. “I was so nervous. Father and Mother and the entire court watching me. You walked over, held out your hand and asked me to dance, a dashing young Bard-trainee. How could I resist?”
Kyran laughed. “I was so startled when you took my hand and let me draw you onto the dance floor. A Bard- trainee, and not an ounce of noble blood in my veins. I thought all the lords and ladies would have brain storms, they were so enraged.”
“It was a lovely dance,” Elspeth said.
“It was, and my last for quite some time. I was hustled out of there and informed in no uncertain terms that just Was Not Done.” Kyran’s laughter echoed off the stone walls. “And well and truly punished by the Bardic Council—fifty copies of ‘My Lady’s Eyes’. Do you know how many lines that song has? Add in the instrumental parts . . .” Kyran shook his head. “I thought the cramp in my hand would be with me until the end of my days.” He focused on her again. “Then I got your note.”
“I couldn’t believe they punished you,” Elspeth rolled her eyes. “For a dance!”
“ ‘Meet me in the Collegium Library’,” Kyran quoted. “You apologized—you! Standing there, in your grays, cursing the Bardic Council. I think I fell in love right then and there, with your dark hair and flashing eyes and the scent of violets . . .” Kyran tilted his head back, so very serious as he looked up into the trees. “Why is it that we remember the pain of our lives more than the joy?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t know, beloved.”
“Then know this, Elspeth, Queen of Valdemar and my love,” Kyran’s voice was low and strong. She hung on every word, as he intended, no doubt. “Valdemar has been at peace since your father’s time, and you are the reason. Everything you have done, everything you have suffered, has been worth every moment. Your people are safe and prosperous, your kingdom secure.”
Elspeth shrugged. “I worry that it will end on my death. I worry that my grandson will not be able to—”
“Randale will be fine,” Kyran said firmly. “You’d worry a wart off your hand.” He spread his hands over the coals. “Do you suppose your father worried that you’d ruin the kingdom?”
“I doubt that,” Elspeth snapped. “He knew that I’d always put Valdemar first above all else.”
“Would Randi do less?” Kyran asked.
Elspeth caught her breath, then scowled. “Do you have to be so . . . so . . .”
“Irritating? Aggravating?” Kyran smirked. “Rational? Accurate?”
Elspeth growled, trying to stay angry, but he just gave her that innocent carefree look. “It’s why you love me,” he assured her.
“I suppose . . .” Elspeth said.
“Well, that and my lute.” Kyran wagged his eyebrows.
Elspeth laughed out loud. “Your lute’s not quite as in tune as it once was, my love. Any more than my sagging breasts and wrinkled skin.”
“Alas, time’s passage takes its toll. Still, it’s ever yours to command. And finger. And fondle, if your majesty so desires. And as to your breasts—”
“Enough,” Elspeth snorted. “I cry mercy.”
“Then I cry enough melancholy, my love.” Kyran said. “All the years, all the pain and the joy—I would not change a thing for fear I’d change what lies between us.”
The tears started again, but not with sorrow. “I love you.”
“And I, you.” Kyran said. “And on the morning when you do not wake, I’ll not be far behind.”
Elspeth’s heart leaped in her throat, but then common sense intervened. “You’re freezing.”
“I am. Come. You’ve a court dinner and even Queen Elspeth the Peacemaker had best not anger the cooks.” Kyran stood and offered his arm.
She stood, stepped close to him.
“You still smell like violets,” Kyran whispered. He held out his arm.
Elspeth placed her hand on his wrist, stroking his cold skin with her fingers tips. As they started down the path, Kyran flipped his hand, and for a brief, sweet moment their fingers intertwined, before returning to their proper places.
“Meredith is on duty in my inner chamber tonight,” she offered the bit of information with a sly look.
“Really?” Kyran arched an eyebrow at her. “Meredith likes me. If an old worn out Bard were to appear at your chamber door late at night, she’d open it and none the wiser.”
“True,” Elspeth said. “I’d even welcome an old, worn-out Bard to my chamber, away from prying eyes and whispering tongues.”
Figures moved in the glow behind the windows. As they grew closer, the door opened, letting warm air wash over them.
“I’ll let you strum my lute,” Kyran whispered as he bowed her into the room, eyes bright.
Joy rose in her heart as Elspeth laughed.
The Reluctant Herald
Mickey Zucker Reichert is a pediatrician, parent to multitudes (at least it seems like that many), bird wrangler, goat roper, dog trainer, cat herder, horse rider, and fish feeder who has learned (the hard way) not to let macaws remove contact lenses. Also she is the author of twenty-two novels (including the
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